


The Bed You Make

by flawedamythyst



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming home to find everything precisely as he had left it was a dispiriting experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bed You Make

Coming home to find everything precisely as he had left it was a dispiriting experience. Peter was far more used to mugs in the sink, jackets thrown over chairs and lesson plans spread out over the kitchen table. He dropped his keys onto the table on the hall, trying not to think back to when the fact that they were the only set there would have meant a frantic hunt the next morning for where Howard had left his.

Peter went through to the bedroom to take his jacket off and hang it up, and there was no heap of clothes on the chair or stack of books on the bedside table. Two months, and it still hit him like a blow to the stomach every time he expected to see clutter and there wasn't any. He put his jacket away and went back to the kitchen, pulling down a mug before changing his mind. Tea was Howard's remedy for all of life's problems; Peter needed something stronger. He put the mug back and found a glass and a bottle of whisky.

It had been a bad day, and the night before it had been even worse. There'd been an almighty mess in Athens that they'd all been rushing about trying to fix since early the previous evening. He'd been at work for nearly thirty hours before Mr. Smiley had finally sent him home with strict instructions to get some rest before he went back.

Peter drained his glass and thought about going to bed alone, with nothing to listen to but the emptiness of the flat. He poured himself another glass.

The last time he'd come home after this kind of mess, he'd sat in the kitchen and watched Howard make dinner for them both. He'd been nattering about some prank the children had played on him, the tone of his voice giving away that he'd been more amused by it than annoyed. Peter had let the words wash over him and remind him why it was that he and the others did what they did, despite the long hours and the danger and the way it managed to destroy almost everything else in your life. It was so that the rest of the country could get on with their lives without ever knowing how bad it could get, so that school children could play pranks, and teachers could find solace in tea, and parents could object to detentions, because there was nothing worse to worry about.

He'd watched Howard stir at whatever it was that he was making, glancing over at Peter every so often to make sure he was listening and smiling every time he did as if it was a special treat to have his attention, as opposed to a certainty every time they were in the room together.

 _If he was a woman, I'd marry him,_ he'd thought. It was not the first time he'd had the thought in the four years they had been together, but it was the time he remembered most clearly. The strength of the thought had taken him by surprise even then, and he'd had an image of the two of them in thirty or forty years time, older and tireder, but still smiling at each other and knowing that they were the centre of each other's attention.

Peter poured himself one last glass of whisky, and then resolutely put the bottle away. He took his drink through to the bedroom and sat on the bed to start unlacing his shoes. A memory came to him of Howard kneeling at his feet to take his shoes off, grinning up at Peter as if it was all a huge joke, but his hands had been so gentle as he'd pulled off Peter's socks, almost reverent.

Peter put his hand over his face as he felt his eyes grow damp. How much longer would he be plagued by these memories? Why couldn't he just put Howard away as completely as he had the handful of other men he had been with? Why hadn't two months of solid work at least pushed some of this emotional maelstrom aside? He took two deep breaths, forcing it all back down and refusing to give in to tears yet again.

He sat there for several more minutes, then found himself doing his shoes back up, standing up and getting his jacket. He knew he should be getting into bed and finding the much-needed rest that Mr. Smiley had ordered, but instead he strode back out of the flat, catching his keys up as he went.

 

****

 

Howard's school was just letting out and the road was filled with children and parents. Peter found an out-of-the way bench to sit on, from which he could watch the entrance that he knew Howard would be leaving through. He knew he was being a fool – if he was being watched, and it was entirely possible that he was in the wake of the Bill Haydon débâcle, then his presence here would not go unremarked. There would be an investigation into why a childless man should be at a school, and it wouldn't be hard to link him with Howard from there.

He couldn't bring himself to move, though, at least not until he'd seen Howard. That was all he wanted, he told himself. Just a glimpse of his face and then he'd go home and get the sleep he needed.

Howard didn't come out until about half an hour after the end of school, long after all the children and parents had disappeared. He was with one of the other teachers and they were talking as they walked. Peter let his eyes take in everything he could about Howard's appearance, confident that they were both too distracted by their conversation to notice an overly-curious man on a bench staring at them.

Howard looked as tired as Peter felt. As he talked to the other teacher, there was none of his usual flow of smiles and laughter, and Peter felt a pang at the thought that he might have killed off the easy joy that Howard had had for life. _He might just have had a long day,_ he reminded himself. Or whatever he was discussing with his colleague might not be the kind of topic that lent itself to jollity.

The colleague got into his car, giving Howard a wave goodbye. Howard turned to get his bike from the rack and Peter knew that he should go now, before Howard came out of the school and saw him. He couldn't bring himself to move, somehow, and so when Howard cycled out of the gate, he saw him immediately.

Howard's mouth compressed into a firm line and for a moment Peter was sure that he was just going to cycle past as if he didn't know him. He was too kind-hearted for that, though, and stopped his bicycle in front of Peter.

“Peter,” he said, sounding as tired as he looked. “What are you doing here?”

Peter didn't have an answer for that. “I'm sitting,” he said when it became obvious that an answer would be required.

Howard sighed and glanced around. “You should go home.”

“I should,” agreed Peter. “I should be there right now, asleep. Somehow, I'm here instead.”

The lines around Howard's eyes grew tighter and Peter wondered if he would just cycle away. He had every right to – this was a situation of Peter's making, after all.

“Can we talk?” he blurted out, and then wondered why. What was there to talk about?

Howard glanced around them again and Peter remembered that his was not the only job that would be on the line if their relationship became public knowledge. “Not here,” he said.

They went to a café that was far enough from the school to be free of children or parents that might recognise Howard. Peter ordered them both cups of tea but didn't touch his, too busy taking in every detail of Howard's appearance. Closer to, he looked even more tired, as if he hadn't slept properly in weeks. Peter wondered if his bed felt as empty and cold as Peter's did.

“Are you at your sister's?” he asked.

Howard nodded. “For the moment,” he said. “I've been looking for my own place, but it's expensive for one person these days.”

Peter looked down at his tea, clasping it with both hands to feel the heat soaking through the porcelain. His salary was such that he had no problem paying for the flat they had shared alone, but he knew a teacher earned a lot less.

“Look,” said Howard, “what's this about? You can't just turn up like this, Peter.”

“I know,” said Peter, but couldn't find anything else to say. What was this about? What could he accomplish here? There was no changing the situation now.

Howard sighed. “You don't get to do this,” he said. “Are things going badly with your new man or something?”

Peter looked up at him then. “There is no new man,” he said. “Of course there isn't.”

Howard snorted and half-shook his head. “Right,” he said, but he didn't sound even a little bit convinced.

That hurt. Howard had always considered Peter to be out of his league – too posh, too smart, too rich, too handsome – all rubbish, of course. For four years, Peter had been hoping that one day he'd be able to persuade Howard that he was more than good enough for him. Too good, really. There was no one kinder than Howard, or who brought smiles to those around him more readily, or who could hold a candle to how he looked when he grinned at Peter with all his boyish glee. Peter had thought he'd finally managed to erode away all his doubts and insecurities, but it seemed he'd managed to destroy all that work in one go.

“How could there ever have been anyone else?” he asked. “From the moment we met, you've been the only man I could see.” He said it automatically, and a moment later he realised his mistake. He didn't get to say things like that any more, no matter how true they might be.

Howard's jaw clenched and he glared at Peter. “How dare you say that?” he said fiercely. “After coming home one day and just kicking me out like that, how dare you pretend I meant that much to you?”

“You did,” insisted Peter, because he can't bear to think of Howard going away thinking that he hadn't been cherished. “You still do. It wasn't anyone else, it was-” he stopped then, because what could he say?

Howard leaned forward. “What?” he asked. “What was it? What explanation could you possibly have?”

“It was work,” said Peter after a moment. “There was someone at work who suspected something.” He had to look away from Howard's eyes, back at his tea. “You know what it would mean if it got out.”

Howard let out a quiet sigh. “Of course I do,” he said, sounding exhausted. “And of course you reacted as you did. Your job has always come first.”

He sounded bitter, which made Peter look back up with a frown.

“You said you understood that,” he said. The job was all-consuming, and he'd told Howard that from the start. There were always long hours and unexpected meetings and the occasional night like last night, when he never made it home at all, but Howard had always said it was fine. He didn't know what Peter did, of course, but he knew he worked for the Government, and that much of it was secret. Peter had always taken care to make himself sound like a minor civil servant, downplaying the importance of any secrets as merely governmental paranoia. It was safer for both of them that way.

“Oh, I did,” said Howard with resignation. “I do. It's not as if I don't spend several hours a night marking and doing lesson plans and all that. This is more than that, though. Destroying everything we had on just a possibility of being found out at work, it's- I don't know.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Peter wanted, more than anything, to reach out to him and take his hand, touch his shoulder, anything that might make some of the tension carved into his posture melt away. Instead, he clung tighter to his tea mug.

Howard was right, of course. No job was worth more than what they'd shared, and of course Peter should have sacrificed his work before Howard, long before it came to that. He'd wanted them to spend rest of their lives together, what on earth did a job compare to that?

It wasn't just a job, though, and right then, during that investigation, it had been more important than anything else. It had been for the country, and nothing was more important than that. If he'd been turfed out or even just walked away, then Mr. Smiley would have lost his inside man. The investigation would have been crippled, and who knew if it would have even succeeded? Bill Haydon might still be in place now, sending all their secrets straight to Moscow and feeding them, and the Americans, nothing but lies and fabrications in return. No job was worth more than Howard, but safeguarding the nation was.

And there was no way that Peter would ever be able to explain that to him without breaking every protocol there was. He looked back down at his tea, searching for something to say that might at least express some of that, but there was nothing.

After a long few minutes, Howard let out a sigh. “Well, that says it all, really.” He pushed his tea away from him. “Don't take this the wrong way, but don't do this again. I can't stand seeing you.”

Peter felt that like a knife thrust, but he kept himself composed enough to look up. “Is there a right way to take that?” he asked.

Howard managed a rueful smile. “Probably not,” he said, and stood up.

Peter's stomach sank like a lead weight. This was it, this was his last chance. Howard was going to walk away, and he'd never see him again. He desperately tried to search for some way to fix this and for a moment he was tempted to say that he'd give up his job, find something else that wouldn't force this choice on him, but he couldn't get the words out. They needed him at the circus – last night had shown that. They were still patching the holes and regrouping from the fall-out of the Haydon affair, and the Russians were taking advantage of it any way they could, and every loyal man was needed.

He was needed, and what he wanted didn't come into that.

“Goodbye, Peter,” said Howard, holding his hand out.

Peter stood up to take it with both his hands, grasping at it with too much strength. “I wanted to grow old with you,” he said, because it was his last chance and he couldn't let Howard leave without knowing.

Howard looked completely taken aback, but got himself together enough to pull his hand away. “You can grow old in your job instead,” he said, and there was that tinge of bitterness again. He left the café and Peter stayed standing to watch him walk away, noting the way his shoulders were hunched over, and how he never looked back.

“Sir? Can I get you anything else?”

Peter pulled his gaze away to focus on the waitress and shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said. He abandoned the cup of tea and left to go back to his flat. If his bed was cold and empty, it was because he had made it so, and it was long past time for him to lie in it.


End file.
